


I Dare You

by thornfield_girl



Category: Justified
Genre: Don't try to make sense of it, Gay Chicken, Just enjoy, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim doesn't think they'll go there, but that shows how much he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Dare You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norgbelulah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/gifts), [someotherstorm (rumbrave)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumbrave/gifts).



"Raylan, I promise you that I had no idea about this. This is nothing short of horrifying and heartbreaking for me. You cannot honestly believe I had any knowledge of this."

Raylan glares at Boyd, face tense and still. Boyd, for once, doesn't look like he's talking out of both sides of his face. Finally, Raylan expels a sigh through his nose and says, "No, Boyd, I don't, since this asshole Barton is still walking the earth."

"Now you're speaking the God's honest truth, Raylan." He looks disarmingly relieved, and Raylan doesn't think he'd been afraid of arrest. 

"I need whatever information you have on this fucking creep. I need it right now, no bullshit."

Now Boyd's face closes up again, and he says, "I ain't sure I really want to help you with that, my friend."

Raylan's eyes flash. "We ain't friends, Boyd. And if you don't help, then I consider you on the same level as him." 

Boyd smiles, and Raylan can't keep from frowning deeply. "Raylan, you find him, he goes to prison. Maybe. I find him, he ain't gonna be hurtin' any more little boys. Nor anyone else, neither. Not ever. And that's a goddamn guarantee."

Raylan knows that's probably true, and if he's being honest with himself, he can't help but see the almost overwhelming appeal of such a course of action. 

"Boyd, listen. I get it. You know I do. But that ain't how it's gonna go. He gives me any excuse, I'll shoot him my own damn self. Otherwise, I gotta take him in. Don't you think those boys and their families might want to know, and see, that he's being brought to justice? That can't happen if you put a bullet in his brain in the fuckin woods somewhere."

Boyd snorts and says, "That ain't justice, Raylan. But okay, fine, I'll tell you what I know. He's only been working for me for about six months. He's muscle in case some of the... customers get out of line. Mostly it's for show, see, because he's a big boy and looks fucking mean, so they see him and generally behave themselves with the girls."

"Uh huh," says Raylan, "So where's he living? All we got's a Mississippi address for him."

"He's been staying in one of the trailers. I'll take you."

Raylan follows Boyd's truck out to the trailers, and Boyd unlocks it for him. He pokes around and doesn't find much on first glance, but figures he'll tell the local PD to get a warrant and do a thorough search. Right now, Raylan is only involved because the man is wanted for sex crimes against pre-pubescent boys in his home state of Mississippi. His job is just to find this bastard, not get him convicted.

"You think he'll be back here?" Raylan asks without much hope.

"No. He's plenty stupid, but he ain't suicidal, far as I know."

Raylan thinks a minute, then asks, "You got any way of getting in touch with him?"

Boyd shrugs. "He's got a cell phone. Happy to give you the number, but I don't know why good it'll do. Even assuming he ain't tossed it yet."

"Fine. You got no other ideas where he might go?"

"Honestly, no. He ain't from around here. I was him, I'd be in Tennessee by now."

Raylan huffs in frustration, and Boyd says, "But he ain't me, and like I said, he's stupid. And he'll be desperate. I might be able to help you."

"Is that so?" Raylan says skeptically. 

"If I called him and told him I'd help, he might believe me. I can be fairly convincing, you know. Not that I need to tell you."

Raylan glares hard, and Boyd just gazes calmly back at him. 

"Fine," Raylan growls. "Call him and set up a time and place to meet, and we'll take it from there."

"Well, now, I have to take issue with that. I'll set up a meeting, certainly, but I want to be there when you take him. I want to look that sick fuck in the eye so he _knows._ "

Boyd doesn't have to finish that thought, because Raylan knows. If the law doesn't get him, Boyd Crowder will. And Raylan, for once, can't bring himself to give two shits. 

"Boyd, I can't have you hanging around an official-"

"Raylan, what if he calls back? What if he gets nervous? Don't you want me around to smooth that shit over?"

Raylan starts to fight him again, but then realizes it could be helpful. Possibly. Maybe they can even get an admission out of that asshole. 

"Would you wear a wire?" 

Boyd bristles, as an automatic response, but relaxes after a moment. This is a different situation, the same rules do not apply. They are, for all intents and purposes, on the same side, and for the same reasons. 

Boyd nods once, and say, "I would. I'm gonna tell him to meet me out at Daddy's cabin, you know, where-"

"Uh huh. Fine," Raylan says flatly.

Raylan calls the office and tells them what he has in mind, and that it has to happen tonight. It's decided that Tim will bring the recording equipment and join them at the cabin as soon as he can get there. "Bring food," Raylan tells him. 

The place is even more rundown than Raylan remembers, which makes sense, of course, since he hasn't been inside this cabin in more than twenty years. 

Boyd finds a bottle of Wild Turkey he must have stashed here and pours himself a drink in an old, enameled tin mug. "Can I tempt you, Raylan?" he asks. 

"I can't drink on duty, Boyd."

Boyd gives a half-laugh. "What are you talking about? You do it all the time."

"I suppose I do, but Gutterson's gonna be here soon and I don't really feel like taking shit from him about it."

Boyd looks mildly amused, but doesn't say anything. He pulls a beat up pack of cards from a drawer and holds them up. "Want to play gin or something?"

"Maybe later," Raylan says, pacing restlessly around the room.

Boyd shrugs and lays out a hand of solitaire on a low table by the old, worn couch he's sitting on. "Raylan, sit the fuck down, would you? You're making me nervous."

Raylan just shoots daggers at him and keeps pacing. 

Tim arrives an hour or so later with sandwiches and coffee in a large thermos. He tries to talk to Boyd about what he's going to say to say to Barton, but Boyd will only say that he's got it, and don't worry. Tim is obviously still worrying, but when he looks at Raylan, he only shrugs.

Boyd pulls out his phone and makes the call, lookin mildly surprised when the man answers. He rolls his eyes and says softly, "Hey, man. I hear you got some heat on you."

There's silence on Boyd's end for a minute, but the tinny sound of someone freaking out comes through the phone. 

"Uh huh. Well, listen, I want you to know I don't believe a word of it. You been a real good soldier for me, and I ain't forgot that. You gonna need to get far away from Harlan though, far as you can get... yeah, I know... yeah..." 

Boyd is shaking his head now and looks like he might want to laugh if he weren't so disgusted. "Well," he says, "I do owe you this week's pay, I realize. I may be able to kick in a little extra and give you some assistance so's you can get the fuck outta here quick. Well, you are welcome. You come and meet me out at the cabin and I'll have something for you... soon as possible, yeah... no, tonight, man... Well where are you? I can... You saying you don't trust me?" 

Boyd's voice has turned dark and frankly terrifying, and Raylan thinks the pervert on the other end must be pissing his pants. Somehow, though, he must have held his own, because Boyd is frowning now, and his hand closes into a loose fist on the table, the first sign of nerves Raylan has seen from him all night. 

He says, "Get here as soon as you can, Barton. _Alone._ Do not bring anyone there, this is need to know only. And you're the only one who needs to know."

He gets off the phone and says, "Little fucker says he probably can't get here until the morning. His fucking car broke down on his way out of town and he was gonna get a ride in the morning. Obviously i told him not to do that. Jesus. He's gonna try to get the car running, but it might be a long night."

Boyd pours himself another drink and lifts the bottle at Raylan and Tim with a questioning look. Raylan looks at him darkly - mainly because a drink is sounding very goddamn good rigt now - and shakes his head. Tim just looks at him like he's nuts and pours himself some coffee. 

Tim gets Boyd wired up, in case Barton shows up earlier than they thought. They eat, and Boyd manages to talk them into playing cards. After two hours of this, Raylan is up and pacing again. Even Tim looks at him like he might be slightly concerned. 

Boyd chuckles softly, and Raylan glances over sharply. "What?" Raylan snaps.

"Something about this cabin got you on edge, Raylan?" Boyd isn't smiling at him, exactly, but he's laughing with his eyes.

"God, can't you ever shut up? Maybe that's what's got me on edge, it's the echoes of years upon fucking years of you running your mouth in here."

Boyd shrugs and says, "Don't remember it bothering you so damn much when we used to come up here. I seem to recall we actually engage in what is commonly known as conversation, back then."

Tim is looking between them with a curious frown. "You used to come up here with him?" he asks Raylan. "I thought you said you weren't friends."

Raylan is pissed now, and is regretting this whole stupid idea. "It's a small town," he says, and Boyd lets something escape his lips that sounds like, "Pshhh," but doesn't say anything more. 

Tim looks a little uncomfortable in the ensuing cold silence, and he says, "I hate to interfere in your little bromance here, but how about a game of hearts?"

Boyd looks at him for a few seconds, then says, "Boring. I think we should play gay chicken."

Raylan chokes on the coffee he had just taken a sip of, and Tim laughs. "What are we, 19? I'm pretty sure you're joking, but that's a big fuck no from me."

Boyd looks at Raylan and says, "Well, refusal to play automatically means he loses, right? So, Tim's a homo, that's settled. Raylan? Care to prove your manhood?"

Raylan is about to answer when Tim says, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Because I won't play a game were you're required to do gay shit, that makes me gay? I don't think that's how it works."

Raylan looks at him laconically and says, "Actually, Tim, I'm pretty sure that's the rule. Don't blame me, blame Hoyle's."

Tim scoffs and says, "Oh, and I'm sure you've got no qualms about French kissing Crowder here."

"Well, now, I certainly can't say that. I got qualms a-plenty about him. But I ain't afraid of a dare."

Tim stares at him, then looks at Boyd. "Okay, then. If the two of you are so goddamn secure, then I'll make you a bet. I bet you can't get through five rounds with me as a judge."

Boyd's eyes spark with the challenge, and he replies, "What do we get if we win?"

"I'll buy you both breakfast."

Raylan interjects here, saying, "I don't want to have breakfast with him. You'll have to do better than that, Timmy."

"What do you have in mind?" Tim asks warily. 

Boyd laughs and says, "Aint it obvious? You have to play the winner."

Tim begins to protest, then says, "You know what? Fine. No way you'll get that far."

Raylan reaches for the bottle and pours himself a generous slug, then looks hard at Tim, daring him to make an issue of it. Tim just smirks. 

Raylan asks, "But if you win? Which you won't, but just say. What do you get?"

Tim says, "Just the satisfaction of not only having won, but also seeing you humiliated."

"Fair enough," Raylan says.

"Okay, we'll start small. You just have to kiss. On the lips."

Raylan and Boyd look at each other and they both shrug. They pull their chairs closer, angling them so they're facing each other, and lean forward for a brief, dry kiss.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," Tim says, sounding annoyed.

"You'll have to be specific, Gutterson," Boyd says. "Round two."

Tim sighs and says, "Okay. Now you gotta kiss again, with tongues, while you're touching each other on the... let's say, leg."

Raylan casts a sidelong glance at Tim, downs the rest of his drink, then faces Boyd. Boyd puts a hand on Raylan's knee, and Raylan bends forward to meet him in a somewhat tentative kiss. His eyes are open, because closing them seems weird, but leaving them open also seems weird. He leans a hand into Boyd's thigh and allows his mouth to open slightly. 

Boyd's tongue slips in and meets his, and he's hit with a powerful sense memory - the mildew smell of the cabin, the taste of bourbon, the roughness of Boyd's skin - and he feels something stir below the waist. He pulls back quickly and looks at Tim with as much bravado as he can muster. 

Tim looks surprised and grudgingly impressed, but he says, "Not bad, but that's still only round two."

Raylan rolls his eyes like its nothing, but he's wondering just how, exactly, he got himself into this. He blames Boyd.

"Next," Tim says, "uh..."

Boyd snorts. "Run out of imagination already, Gutterson? Or are you just afraid of exposing your inner desires?"

"Shut up, Crowder. You trying to piss me off? You might regret that. Fine, this time you have to touch each other's crotch, through your pants, while you're kissing. With tongues."

"Not very imaginative, but fine," Boyd replies.

Boyd grins and Raylan mutters, "I must be some kinda idiot," but doesn't refuse. 

They kiss again, more confident this time, and by the time their hands get near each other's flies, there's not really any room for denial, for either of them. Boyd makes a very quiet, muffled grunt when Raylan touches him. Raylan's eyes are closed this time, and he's starting to wish Tim wasn't there. 

They end it fairly quickly. Raylan does his best to mask his reluctance to pull away, but there's no way Boyd doesn't catch that. 

Tim is looking at them suspiciously now, and he says, "Okay... that was a little weird. You guys want to stop this?"

Boyd is slightly flushed, and he looks intensely at Tim. "So does that mean we win? Okay. You want to play me or Raylan?"

"Jesus, no! I just thought I'd give you a way out if you wanted one." Raylan thinks Tim is looking a little pale. He's tempted to accept the compromise, but he's sure Boyd is not about to.

"No retreat, no surrender. Bring on round four."

Tim scratches his head and thinks for a minute. Then he says, "Next round, you're gonna have to stand up and kiss with your bodies touching. With no pants. I cannot stress enough, you can still back out."

As an answer, Boyd stands up and unzips his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. Raylan does the same. They walk towards each other, and Raylan suddenly realizes, he doesn't know what is going to happen with this. If he's doing all this and doesn't get to come, he's going to be in a really shit mood for the rest of the night and probably longer. But if he does come, then it's going to be weird with Tim. But then, really, how much weirder could it get than it already is?. 

Boyd reaches for him and pulls him in by the waist, which he was not expecting. This is extraneous touching, not required by the rules of the round. His hand drifts up to a similar spot on Boyd, almost involuntarily. Boyd is kissing him, and it doesn't feel like a game anymore. It's him, and they're here, and time is folding back on itself. 

Boyd's dick is hard and pressing against his hip. As they kiss, Boyd leans into him slightly. This time, there is no pretense of wanting it to be over. When they pull back, Boyd looks at Tim and asks breathlessly, "What's next?"

Tim is staring openly, and is clearly at a loss for words. 

Boyd sounds a little impatient as he says, "Well? Was it going to be blow jobs or hand jobs? Come on, man, don't leave us hanging."

Raylan is blushing furiously and looking at the ground, but he's not about to go without, not now. 

"Uh..." Tim begins, "It was gonna be hand jobs. But I guess... whatever you feel like doing. I'll be in the other room."

He leaves, and Raylan looks straight at Boyd. He growls, "Suck it, asshole." Boyd only grins and drops to his knees. 

Then his mouth is on Raylan, it's warm and wet, strange and familiar, and Raylan stands perfectly still as Boyd works him. He steadies himself with a hand on Boyd's shoulder as he feels it surging up, and he lets out a long groan as he comes. 

He's spent, but he figures it's only fair to get Boyd back. Boyd stands up and kisses him again, which seems a little unnecessary, but not really unwelcome. Raylan wraps his hand around Boyd's dick and lets him run his hands over his skin, under the shirt. 

They're still kissing, and he pulls and pushes, rubs and strokes him until he's panting and breathing hard into Raylan's neck. Raylan isn't thinking about much of anything as he whispers into his hair, "Still like that, huh? I remember..." and then he's coming, slicking up Raylan's fist as he gives it a few more pumps. 

They don't really look at each other as they get straightened out. It feels like they'd been in some kind of altered state, and now Raylan is dreading having to face Tim. Jesus Christ, what had he been thinking? 

When they're dressed and they've washed up, they wander into the other room, and Raylan clears his throat. Before he can say anything, Tim says, "I don't give a shit what you call me, I am not playing that game with either one of you."

Raylan snorts, and Boyd laughs out loud. "We won't hold you to nothing, will we, Raylan?"

"Um, no. Wouldn't really be fair, anyway."

Tim says, "What the fuck was that in there?"

Boyd smiles at him and says, "Well, you might say we used to play that particular sport on a semi-regular basis."

Tim looks at Raylan and he shrugs, because there really is not much of anything to say. He says, "Like I said, it's a small town." Then he winks at him, and Tim blushes, looks away and begins laying a out a new hand of solitaire.


End file.
